Fire Starter
by Between2Devils
Summary: "Yeah, me either, until I got the phone call about the fire," Mickey said, then sat down his drink. His sucked his lips clean. "Kid's like, four," he sighed. Ian/Mickey. That one mistake you think is over, will always come back to bite you on the ass.
1. Chapter 1

Fire Starter

_Chapter One_

The fire attracted a lot of homeless Chicago citizens. Temperatures had been dangerously low this December. So on Christmas morning, when the Milkovich house burned to the ground, every wino within a five block radius was crowded around the flames, hands out, gloves off, smiling, grateful for the warmth. Nevermind the screams coming from inside. Later, never mind the police and firemen pulling along the road. Never mind Fiona Gallagher, walking by, trying to reach her brother on his phone.

She stopped dead center the sidewalk, barely missing the men in uniform rushing by her. Her big eyes moved upward, following the billowing smoke and licks of gold aimed at the clouds. Fiona screamed too. Dropped her phone and wailed. Fell to her ass and rolled onto her side, crying. By her face, the phone kicked in on Lip's answering machine for the fifth time that morning.

_"You've got Lip. I'm not answering right now, so you know what to do."_

xxx

"Fiona?" Debbie's voice carried under the blankets, passed through Fiona's ears. She heard and didn't respond. Curled up against Lip's once upon a time stuffed tiger, Fiona sobbed silently, tears both fresh and dried caked to her face. "Fee, Ian's here," Debbie said gently.

xxx

Ian swallowed down half of his coffee. Jimmy sat across from him at the dinette, holding his own mug, steam warming his face. Sucking bottom lip clean, Ian breathed out slowly and looked up at the top of the staircase. Debbie held to the rail and descended, deep lines on her young face. When she got to the bottom, Debbie hugged herself tightly and met Ian's gaze.

"She won't answer me, still," Debbie whispered.

"It's all right, Debs," Ian said, giving his sister a reassuring, soft lipped smile.

Debbie stood about five feet, seven inches tall. Her burgundy hair was a mass of unruly curls being held down with an elastic headband. She was wearing a shirt that Ian knew to be Lip's. Beneath it, she was unmistakably her mother's daughter. Sixteen and looked like she was at least twenty one.

Jimmy cleared his throat and stood from his chair, offering it up to Debbie as he walked over to the kitchen sink and rinsed his mug out, sat it aside. He turn and leaned against the counter. "She has to get up. The funeral's in the morning," Jimmy said. He sounded and looked tired. Tired of walking on eggshells. Just plain tired. "You should try," he said, nodding to Ian. "Maybe she'll respond to you."

Ian took another drink of his coffee and stared blankly at Debbie, now sitting across from him. The coffee had very little taste. Probably because of Ian's inner shutdown. First the nightmares, then the army's discharge, now his brother's been burned to death. All Ian wanted to do was break down and cry. Instead, he sucked in a gulp of air and stood up. His chair scratched at the floor and his coat fell from the back of it and onto the unswept floor. He squeezed Debbie's shoulder as he walked by her to hike the stairs. Stairs which seemed to take an eternity to climb.

Once at the top, Ian stilled, hand rested on the wall as he stared at his and Lip's old bedroom. The door was the only one closed. He knew his sister was in there, curled up on the top bunk. Debbie told Jimmy, who passed it on that Fiona had been in there since they'd returned home from the coroner's office. First she'd gone to the basement and rummaged through boxed up toys until she found one of Lip's old stuffed animals that hadn't been washed since the guy's sixth birthday. Standing there, thinking of what his sister must look like, thinking of the memories that were about to attack him when he opened that bedroom door, Ian almost chickened out. Almost ran down the stairs to his car and then straight to the airport so that he could hop a flight back to Jacksonville, North Carolina, and pretend none of this was happening. But Jacksonville was behind him now, just as was the child he wished he could be again.

Reaching for the doorknob, Ian winced at his churning guts. He peeked in through the crack. Emotions hit him like a ton of bricks. Like he'd known they would.

"Fiona," Ian said, and even he heard the hollowness of his voice, "you have to get up." When he received no response, Ian stepped in fully and walked over to the bunk bed. He folded his forearms on the rails and poked his sister's backside. "Stop doing this," he said softly. "Liam thinks you're going to turn into mom. You're scaring him."

She moved. More of a response than Debbie, Carl, and Jimmy had gotten out of her yet. Maybe none of them knew how to tear at Fiona were it really hurt. And although it was mean, Ian knew exactly how to do that, how to tear into a person's deepest emotions, how to elicit a reaction. So he did. Because Fiona needed to snap out of this depression before she really did go the way of Monica.

Still, all she'd done was shift. So Ian pursed his lips and gripped the bunk rails. He paused before he did what he knew was going to earn him a slap, then shook the rails, yelling, "Get up, Fiona! Get up!"

Still nothing, so he shook harder, his voice cracking, his eyes tearing up. Louder, he screamed, "Lip's gone and this isn't helping! Please get up! I need you!"

Finally she did something besides laying there in silence. She curled further into herself and cried loudly. Ian took a jump, landing on the top bunk, and hugged his sister's waist above the covers. Held tightly and joined her crying.

From the door, Debbie and Jimmy stood, watching, concerned and shocked.

xxx

Cities away, Mickey Milkovich once again got on the Greyhound bus. This time he was free of bags and suitcases, save for a single backpack which held a change of clothes, his wallet, phone, and a toothbrush. The bus would take until almost morning to get back into Chicago. Leaving him just enough time to meet his sole surviving sibling at the funeral.

He looked around the bus full of people, some of which were staring back at him. Him in his untucked suit, hugging his backpack. Him with a deep ache in his chest and swollen, red eyes.

Today, Mickey regretted a lot of his past decisions.

* * *

**Yeah so, hope you guys are into this. It's depressing so far, I know. I was listening to a Kyla La Grange song called _Been Better_ and this hit me like a sack of bricks. So I staid up literally all night yesterday thicking out an entire plot, then wrote this first chapter during my breaks at work. **

**Let me know how I'm doing!**

**I'm so making a playlist while I write this. I'm strong with the feels right now. **


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

"Love is not an easy feeling to put into words. The same goes for loyalty, or trust, or joy. But he was all of these. Lip loved life completely and he loved his family. I don't know what I would have done without him, growing up. . ."

Ian clutched Debbie's hand and she stood near the open grave while Fiona gave her eulogy to their brother. Clutched it probably a little too hard. Lips firmly set, eyes red, and tears rolling down his face as he and Fiona held each other's gaze.

"My brother," Fiona said, "was a good man, who saw wrong and tried to right it, saw suffering and tried to heal it. . ."

Carl was in misery. Ian broke eye contact with Fiona only long enough to see Carl shifting about, restless, furious. Carl had reacted differently to Lip's death. Carl was angry. Angry at everything, everyone, and especially angry at Lip. They'd had to forcibly bring him to the funeral. Ian was on lookout for Carl to dart. So far, the young teen just looked like he was going to explode. Standing there beside of Frank, who had cleaned up surprisingly well for Lip's funeral, Carl sucked on his fifth cigarette. Jimmy had smacked the disrespectful cigarette out of Carl's hand only once. Ian had chased Carl down and afterward, no one mentioned that Carl ought to show some respect. At least he was there. Monica hadn't even bothered showing her face.

"One of the things that I respected the most about my brother was his determination to live his life the way he wanted," Fiona's shaky voice rang out, pulling Ian back to reality. "Lip's goals and aspirations were different than my own," she said, "but that didn't mean that him and I weren't close. He was a best friend to me and even though we lived far apart these last couple years, we always talked and were there whenever each other needed. We'll miss Lip more than words can say." To close, Fiona dropped her torn up shoe string, tied into a perfect knot, on top of the closed casket. Jimmy helped her over to the chair off to the side, and it was Debbie's turn to speak.

Ian watched his sister step in front of the casket, beside of the preacher, and found that he felt cold without her holding his hand. He crossed his arms and listened to her speak. He'd already given his own eulogy. Ian chose not to sit because he was ready to beeline after Carl. Or to pummel Frank if necessary.

When everyone was seated, even Carl, who chose not to say a word or drop on a piece of string, Ian stepped away for a breather near his car. The preacher was going on about forgiveness and a bunch of bullshit that Ian knew Lip wouldn't have wanted. So, having no desire to listen, Ian neared his car and breathed in the icy air of new year's day. In his opinion, Lip probably wouldn't have even wanted this funeral. Lid had once told Ian over the phone that when he died, he wanted everyone to have a beer under the El for him and toss his ashes into Lake Michigan. No sappy shit. But Fiona thought the kids needed closure.  
By the time Ian reached his car, the voice of the preacher was distant. Was replaced with another voice. One that wasn't much closer, but more familiar. One that shook Ian to his core. He knew that on the other side of this graveyard, the Milkovich family in most of it's entirety was being buried. And be damned if Mickey Milkovich wasn't actually shown up and giving a god damned eulogy.

Frozen in place, Ian breathed through his mouth, breath puffing out around him. He stared at the tree in front of him, dead and gone, suited for this occasion. Stared and listened.

Faint though they were, Mickey's words filled Ian's head.

"Mandy was only Twenty-one yesterday. Growing up, we said we didn't wanna be buried. Said we were going to live forever. Of course, we were five and dressed up like really shitty versions of the Power Rangers, high on pixiesticks and pop. I guess she'd want. . ."

Ian couldn't bare not witnessing this. He'd planned on showing his respects to Mandy, anyway. Even though he hadn't seen Mandy since she bailed after Mickey's last incarceration. So, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his suit pants, Ian walked around his car, crossed the street, and trudged across the expanse of Chicago's biggest cemetery to where about thirty some random people he'd never seen before were standing around, smoking cigarettes and watching Mickey talk about how much of a cry baby his sister always was.

Mickey.

Ian stood slightly back from the crowd. The crowd who weren't really even dressed for a funeral. Except for a select few. Mickey shockingly being one of them.

Mickey was no different from the last time Ian had laid eyes on him. Except this time, he wasn't wearing an orange jumpsuit and scowling back at Ian through thick glass.

**xxx**

"Mandy would have wanted us to celebrate her life," Mickey said, finishing up, eyes trying to find Iggy in the crowd, "so let's not dwell on this." He gave up looking, rolled his eyes because, why was he bothering with this? The only person here who gave two fucks about Mandy was his aunt June, who Mandy had been living with until this past December. He grabbed his forehead and squeezed his nose, eyes tightly shut. "Why the fuck am I bothering," he mumbled. Opening his eyes, Mickey looked at Mandy's urn. "Mandy, I loved you too," he sighed. "Fuck it," he said, looking out at the other two urns. Smirking down at the closed up, charred remains of his sister. "Fuck it, I'm out of here."

WIth that, he pulled a pack of smokes from his shirt pocket, suit blazer unbuttoned, shirt tail hanging out. Belt missing. Lit up and gave one more sweep of his eyes over his estranged family.

Where in the hell was Iggy? He was supposed to be released early today because the many family funerals. Fucking federal prison and their god damned unsympathetic attitudes towards good people who've made a few mistakes.

His eyes came to rest on someone who was actually wearing black. At first Mickey felt a rush of relief because he assumed this person was his brother. But when he pushed past a teenager wearing ear buds and listening to an obnoxious boy band, Mickey froze. Because this wasn't Iggy he was looking at. Mickey's mouth dropped open and tipped to a frown. His brows bunched together and he blew his smoke out slowly.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Mickey asked, only a little bit of bitterness in his voice. And even that little bit was forced. Truth was, Mickey was just glad to see a familiar face. Even if that face was Ian Gallagher's.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"I never even knew."

Mickey looked sideways at Ian. They were seated at a tall-top table in some random sports bar. Both having forsaken their respective family funerals. Ian had left his blazer and coat in his moderately expensive car. He sat beside of Mickey now, facing the large television playing some uninteresting game. Sat there in a buttoned up dress shirt and pressed black slacks, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Ian's hair was shaved down low, but Mickey could tell it was growing back in. he had a scar across the dip above his lips. Still just as many potentially cancerous freckles. Other than that, Ian looked relatively the same. Except maybe stressed, which was understandable.

Taking a swig of his brandy, Mickey said into the glass. "Yeah, me either, until I got the phone call about the fire," he said, then sat down his drink. His sucked his lips clean. "Kid's like, four," he sighed.

The child the two spoke of was currently at that disaster of a funeral with June.

Ian studied Mickey's face openly. Mickey thought to tell him to give his eyes a break, but ultimately chose to leave it. After all, Mickey was just as guilty of looking for changes in Ian. Of which there were few. Physically. Mentally, Mickey wouldn't know. They hadn't spoken in five years. In fact, Mickey hadn't bothered asking Mandy for information on the guy because Mandy had also lost contact with the Gallaghers. So Mickey knew nothing of this Ian. Only of the past. Yet, the conversation only felt a little strained despite everything.

Ian Gallagher reached across the table and picked at a peanut, cracked it with his teeth and dropped the shell to the floor. He exhaled loudly and leaned forward, elbows up. Tied up his fingers and stared at Mickey over his rough knuckles. And there it was. In the eye contact. Sure as fuck. That feeling of familiarity that Mickey had hoped he wouldn't get. Mixed with it was rage. He squashed it. Cleared his throat, shifted about, and rubbed his face.

"What's his name?" Ian asked, eyes wide and curious.

"Luis," Mickey said, grabbing a handful of nuts and cracking them one by one. Not to eat. He just wanted to tear at something. The shells broke, the peanuts fell about. Pieces of shell and salt covered Mickey.

"Is he. . ." Ian looked away and took a deep breath, "is he Lip's? Fiona seems to think so."

"I don't know, probably. It would explain why your brother was at my dad's." Mickey shrugged. A few seconds ticked by. Finally Mickey hung his head a little, blue eyes glazing over with thought. He grinned softly, but there was no joy there, only pain. "Mandy never once mentioned she even had a fucking kid," he said. "Four goddamned years talking over the phone and she never said anything."

xxx

Mickey looked hurt as he said that.

Aside from that, Mickey looked no different. No scars that Ian could spot. No aging. Nothing. Which was strange because after five years, after going past eighteen to twenty three, Mickey Milkovich should have looked somewhat different. The life that Mickey had lead when Ian and he were together, the life before Mickey left Chicago, was rough. And not rough like in the Gallagher household.

Mickey's dad cooked up meth in the basement on a regular basis. Once upon a time, Mickey did a lot of cocaine Mickey had always been under constant stress. The stress alone would have done some wear after five more years. When Mickey bounced, Ian mostly expected the guy's life to get worse. Strung out. Something. As Mickey had always told Ian, he was fucked for life and might as well speed up the process.

And he couldn't stop himself. Ian opened his mouth with the intention of continuing the conversation about Lip's likely son. But what came out was, "You look good." After the words fell, Ian's gut jumped He kept a straight face and grabbed another peanut.

The only change in Mickey's usual relaxed, bitchy expression was an arched brow. Looking down at the suit he was wearing, Mickey dusted off the pieces of shell. When he looked back up, his eyes fell toward Ian's mouth. Ian knew Mickey was staring at the scar above Ian's upper lip. Not that it was huge and hideous. But it was there. Hard to miss.

"What happened?" Mickey asked, nodding at Ian and clearly choosing to avoid the previous comment

Ian touched his scar and shrugged before dropping an arm casually over the back of his chair. "Piece of scrap from cross fire," he said. And on second thought, unbuttoned his shirt and pulled the sleeve down enough to reveal his shoulder against the white tank top. And the scarred skin that rested there as well. This scar was deeper, wider, from a burn.

"Same cross fire?" Mickey asked, taking a drink. He'd looked only a little on alert from Ian's action.

A grin stretched Ian's face. He shook his head and buttoned up his shirt again.

"How far does it go back?" Mickey asked, trying not to look curious. He failed.

"Across the entire upper half," Ian said. "I knocked a kid down and saved his face from burning off," he told. "I'm not ashamed of this one."

Mickey sat his cup down, held his chin, rubbing his cheek some. A look of decision crossed his face. He lifted the hand Ian hadn't noticed missing from the fold of his blazer and sat it on the table.

Ian hid his disappointment. He'd hoped Mickey's competitive nature would kick in; thought Mickey would reveal his own scars.

"You have any?" Ian pressed. Pressed because curiosity killed the cat.

Mickey grinned. "Not any you can see," Mickey said, smoothing down the left side of his blazer..

Ian rapped his knuckles on the tabletop and met Mickey's eyes. "None that I can see personally, or none that are physical?" he asked.

"Both," Mickey said, his voice going hard. Sudden. He cleared his throat again. "Look," he said, "I have to get back," and waved a hand, "and you should too."

The pit of Ian's stomach sank. Stupid though it was. He watched Mickey dig out his wallet. Many scenarios played out in Ian's head. How he could stop Mickey leaving. Could somehow finally say what he'd needed to years ago. The much waited I'm so fucking sorry and I hate myself speech. In Ian's mind, this would at least make peace. A deeply buried part of him pictured those words somehow setting them back to better days, back to when Mickey once accepted what they were. Back when Mickey started to accept himself.

Mickey tossed down his pocket change and stepped over to the bar. Ian pulled a bill from his pocket to lay on the table and walked over. Wordlessly, the two paid off their tabs, which weren't hefty. Ian only had about two beers and Mickey only one bit of brandy. As Ian forked over his money, Mickey made his way outside. Saying nothing. No goodbye. Ian regretted having been so hopeful. He watched the door swing shut, sighed, and turned back to the bartender with a frown Paid up, he grabbed his blazer from the coat rack and slipped it on on his way out.

Stopping short halfway out the door, Ian spotted Mickey standing just at the edge of the sidewalk. His inked hands cupping around a lighter as he burnt down what was clearing either a home rolled cigarette or a joint. Ian had seen the nearly full pack of Newports in Mickey's breast pocket, so he wagered the later.

Finally he breathed. Ian hadn't noticed he was holding his breath. Fluffing out his blazer, Ian walked over. He assumed Mickey was waiting and hoped that he wasn't once more getting his hopes up. Though he likely was. Still, both were heading in the same direction and Ian saw pretty much no reason why Mickey wouldn't, at this point, be fine with it.

Five years is a long time to hold a grudge. Even for the ultimate grudge holder, Michael Sidney Milkovich.

"Is your family holding a wake?" Ian asked as he approached, hands in his pockets because he felt awkward.

Mickey's eyes fell on him as he put the lighter away, blew out and quickly sucked back in. "Yeah," he said, holding his breath, then exhaled slowly. He tapped out some of the ash. Took another toke. Studied the joint between his fingers. Mickey pulled a scrunched face, a sideways frown, then looked up and offered over the joint.

Ian shook his head. "I have to get drug tested tomorrow," he said. "Trying to find some kind of job that doesn't suck."

Mickey snorted and took another. "Army not work out for you?" he asked, smirking.

This was definitely a conversation not to be had with Mickey. Mickey was judgemental as they come. Ian had no desire to be torn down because the army had fucked him up. Didn't want to hear an I told you so. Ian simply shook his head, and Mickey got the point and dropped it. Or maybe he didn't care either way. It hurt worse thinking that the guy didn't give a shit, so Ian went with that.

xxx

Nothing more really needed to be said. Mickey's father had fought in the U.S. Navy for two sign ons. Terry used to like talking about it. A lot. Because of all those drunken speeches, Mickey knew a little more about the way government wolf packs worked than he'd like. Knew that, while what Terry had been involved in hadn't screwed with his head, shit like that. . .it had probably screwed with Ian's. The Army, just like the Navy, requires eight years out of a person. Four deployed and four not. It had been four for Ian. And that was only if Ian had signed on as soon as he graduated. Which he probably had. So if the guy wasn't in anymore, Mickey figured what had gone down. PTSD most likely. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Which meant horrible nightmares, detachment, anxiety, flashbacks, and probably Ian avoided whatever reminded him of what had damaged him in the first place. Naturally, the Army doesn't want anything to do with a person suffering that.

Mickey kept his thoughts to himself and finished up his roach. Coughed a few times into his fist. From his one opened eye as he coughed, Mickey caught Ian studying the tattoos on his knuckles. They hadn't changed. Nothing more had been added either. Mickey didn't get what was so interesting. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. Then quickly withdrew them upon realizing he was mimicking Ian.

He stared at Ian for a moment more and the crosswalk changed to green. The two weren't actually near it, but this meant the entire street was clear. Who actually concerned themselves with jaywalking? Mickey started to cross and Ian followed.

xxx

When they reached Ian's car, Ian held to the driver's side door handle and looked at Mickey. Mickey had conceded to ride in Ian's car to the bard, but Ian got the feeling that maybe his ex would walk back. Mickey seemed tense now and he hadn't earlier. Still two miles was, not a lot to walk but, unnecessary. Ian chewed his lip, then started to ask if Mickey wanted to ride back. Instead, all he got out was, "You um-"

"I'll walk it," Mickey butted in, narrowing his eyes. He stood a few feet away, thumbing his lower lip. "Need the air."

Ian furrowed his brow. "Don't be ridiculous," he said, "It's freezing."

Mickey looked to mull the offer over. Scowled.

"Jesus," Ian groaned. The elephant between them be damned. He worried his temple and glared at the ground. "Mickey, get in the car," Ian said firmly. "I'm not asking."

"Fuck you," Mickey laughed. "This was a bad idea."

Rolling his eyes, Ian put his keys back into his pocket and stepped away from the car door. "Then so am I," he announced, arms out to his sides. His throat stung. "I'm not playing this. Not today."

Mickey pulled a sour face. But he didn't argue. Just looked off to the side, face puckered. Ian waited patiently as Mickey face relaxed. Shaking his head, Mickey began walking to the passenger door Ian pivoted and their eyes met over the hood. Mickey stared hard. Tone of voice serious and pissed, he said, "Fuck you." And then got in the car.

xxx

Ian drove like a bat out of hell. Mickey wasn't sure if this was because Ian was just a bad driver or maybe it was that he was angry and in a hurry to get Mickey out of his car. Either way, fuck Ian Gallagher. The redhead didn't have a right to be angry. Mickey had every right.

When they reached the cemetery, Mickey flung open his door and practically leaped out. Slammed the door shut and marched on.

* * *

**Thanks for all the R&R! Glad to know people are enjoying this. I hope you'll like the interaction between Mickey and Ian! It's going to be interesting! **


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

Not even an hour after the funeral, Mickey had picked Iggy up from prison, skipped the wake, and rode down to the courthouse with his aunt June. June who had to get back to Peoria before five o'clock because of her injection. The kid. Luis, rode beside Mickey in the back seat of June's Oldsmobile.

Luis was four years old and had a mop of curls wild enough to almost mask his tiny head, button nose, and brown eyes. He looked a lot like Mandy, save for those Irish ass red curls and the dust of freckles only on his nose. Actually, the kid's hair was almost brown, but Mickey spotted the hint of red right off.

Sitting almost on top of Mickey, Luis turned to the side, watching Mickey like his uncle was something to be admired. Probably Luis was just curious because he'd never met family except June. Mickey wondered if Mandy had ever even mentioned anyone else very often. Especially is she had ever mentioned Mickey. For that matter, he wondered what horrible things June had drilled into the child's head.

Mickey looked down at Luis, frowning, a crease between his brows.

Pointing to Mickey, Luis said, "You look like mama."

Mickey's heart stopped. He caught Iggy's gaze on them in the rearview.

"What's your name?" Luis asked.

When Mickey answered, his voice was scratchy and he had to clear his throat to get it out right.

"Mama said stuff bout you," Luis informed, a sad look on his young face.

June sighed as she turned right. Iggy kept on watching.

Mickey crossed his arms and shifted back against the seat. "Oh yeah?" he said, studying Luis's face. "Like what?" His tone was casual. But inwardly, Mickey was extremely curious to know Mandy had in fact talked about him to Luis, although the same couldn't be said in reversal.

Watching his hands, Luis chewed the side of his mouth, twisting it oddly, then hurried to wipe his eyes. He rubbed them hard. Too hard, and kept at it.

Alarmed, Mickey acted on impulse and grabbed Luis's small wrist, swallowed up three times by Mickey's hand. He tugged the kid's hands away. "Quit," he said, firm.

Luis's reaction was to cry loudly. Not at Mickey but because he was clearly afraid and missed Mandy. As would any kid this young. Mickey related somewhat. His own mother, while she hadn't died when Mickey was young, had constantly been pulled forcibly away from Mickey by either Terry, the police, or his uncle Tommy. And Mickey remembered that he'd cried over it plenty.

"Lue," June's smoker voice erupted, stern and fed up, "stop that. You think your mama wants you crying about this? Your mama hated criers."

Mickey looked from the back of June's head and down at Luis again. The boy was still crying and now he looked angry as well.

"Right now, Lue," June bit. "I'm not going to listen to that blubbering. You ain't the only one upset about this!"

Iggy cracked his window and lit a cigarette.

"Are you listening, Lue?" June continued bellowing.

God damn she was so full of shit. She reminded Mickey so much of his dead grandmother on Terry's side. Bitch.

Luis, arm still in Mickey's grasp, couldn't stop and it was painfully obvious. He had even given himself hiccups.

"Don't you make me pull this fucking car over," June warned.

"Shut up!" Mickey snapped and Luis looked up at him with wide eyes, still streaming tears.

"Excuse me?" June asked, voice dangerously deep.

Iggy snickered and continued staring out the window.

Shaking his head, Mickey gripped his knees to ground himself. To think this bitch used to slap him around when Terry dropped Mickey and his siblings off. Mickey couldn't fathom why Mandy had moved in with June. She was more than a bitch; she was a schizophrenic. Obviously it could only have been to hide the pregnancy. Because Mandy had refused to follow Mickey to their mother's home in Aurora. Sonja was always dead to Mandy ever since she'd hooked up with Tommy and given up on getting custody.

"I don't give a damn how old you are, Michael," June growled.

"And I don't care about you being mad right now," Mickey said. "Nobody gives a shit that he's crying except you. Lighten the fuck up, Aunt June."

June met Mickey's eyes in the rearview. She was openly livid. Bitch that she was, June said, "All right, Luis Milkovich, you want to bust my eardrums, fine." She then promptly reached over and turned the radio up loud enough to startle Iggy, yelling, "Fair is fair, kid."

"That's just fucking childish! God grow up!" Mickey yelled as Iggy reached over and turned it down.

Luis had stopped crying, staring at Mickey again, grateful. When Mickey glanced at Luis, the boy was smiling weakly but smug. Mandy through and through, no doubt.

xxx

The wake went over well, more tears and reminiscing. Ian was glad when it was over. While the others, excluding Frank, rode the El back to the old Gallagher home, Ian bid a brief farewell. Said he needed to do something important. He'd be home by no later than six. The important act was actually walking to the remains of the Milkovich house, behind the yellow tape. Ian stood in front of the rubble, his hands red and freezing in his pockets, nose cold and runny, shaking slightly. Four years living on the coast had thinned Ian's blood. "Merry fucking Christmas," Ian mumbled. "Ho fucking ho." Burying his chin deeper in his scarf, Ian jumped as a hand fell on the side of his back. He spun around, eyes wide and fist raised.

Debbie took a step back and held her hands up. "Take it easy, Ian," Debbie said through chapped lips, "it's just me." She reached out and lowered his fist, let go of his hand slowly. She'd been crying. Her hair had fallen from the bun Fiona had helped pin. Debbie tugged the bottom of her huge, puffy, white coat. "You've been gone for almost an hour," she said.

"Fiona sent you?" Ian asked, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

Debbie shook her head. "I knew you'd be here," she sighed. "You okay?"

Running a hand over his hair, Ian frowned deeply and looked out at the rubble once more. Debbie's eyes followed his.

"I miss him," Debbie said, her voice broken.

Ian looked over at his younger sister as she stepped over beside him. He reached out and grabbed her shoulder. Sighing in both frustration and sadness, Ian pulled Debbie on front of him and hugged her shoulders, face buried in her sloppy bun. "Me too, Debbie," Ian whispered, eyes stinging, "me too."

Debbie broke down, holding her face and crying. "Who did this?" She cried. "Why?"

"I don't know," Ian sighed. "Tony says it was an accidental fire."

Whirling around, Debbie bared her teeth, face red and wet. "That's bullshit!" She screamed. "And you know it's bullshit! Somebody killed Terry Milkovich and Lip and Mandy were collateral damage! You know it!"

Taken aback, Ian crossed his arms and tried using his mouth to form some kind of word, but failed. Eventually he shook his head and let another tear roll down his cheek. She was right. But what did that change?

xxx

"As I'm sure you are aware," the lawyer rambled, straightening the papers constantly, "Amanda didn't have a last will and testament."

Mickey watched this woman's big hands as she fooled with the paperwork. He only looked at her broad face when the butch stroked her chin, glasses falling over her nose. Beside of Mickey, Iggy was restless. His brother, Mickey was sure had gotten hooked on smack during his six year sentencing. And June was too concerned with trying to hurry things along to actually listen.

"I have to have my injection," she kept saying. "It takes me three hours to get back to my doctor. Three. Rush this!"

Rush this? Mickey wanted to bash everyone's head in except for Luis, who sat quietly in the corner, holding a picture of Mandy and doing his damndest not to tear up again. Even though the boy's eyes were stained red. He kept chewing his lips and grabbing his hair, curled up in the large recliner. Occasionally, Luis would look up and meet Mickey's eyes.

Biting his tongue, Mickey crossed an ankle over his knee and shook his foot, trying to listen over June's frustrated groans.

"In this case, custody is typically granted to the next of kin," the lawyer said, folding her hands and looking to Mickey. "Since the father was never disclosed," she went on, "I am forced to award custody to the grandmother." When Mickey's face dropped and he opened his mouth to speak, the woman held up her hand and said, "I'm told your mother is hospitalized."

"She's what?" Iggy rang in, finally, wide eyes going straight to Mickey.

June stood up and walked over to the window, face hardened.

Mickey held his face, stopped moving his foot.

"How bad is it?" Iggy asked.

"She's a fucking vegetable," Mickey said through gritted teeth.

xxx

When Ian stepped in through the kitchen door with Debbie, Fiona was standing against the sink, a cup of coffee in her hands Jimmy sat at the table, fiddling with his emptied beer bottle. Ian spotted Liam and Carl in the living room, asleep on the sofa. Actually, Carl was awake, but merely staring at the ceiling, Liam asleep on by his feet. Stress always tucked Liam out. Ian's eyes fell once again on the table, and he sneered.

There sat Frank, tie taken off and in his hands, greasy hair out of its scrunchie and in his sullen face. Tears in his lying eyes He nursed his beer and stared at nothing in particular.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Ian asked, sharply. At this, Frank looked up. Ian scowled deeper. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he repeat asked to Frank.

"He was my son!" Frank hissed, face enraged. He slammed his hands against the table.

"You never gave a shit about Lip!" Ian bellowed. "You were trying to get money off of Karen at his goddamned funeral!"

And Frank stood from the table quickly. Their spat escalated. Fiona became alarmed. She sat down her cup and joined in, walking over and pulling Frank back as he readied to go for Ian. At this point, Carl had rushed into the kitchen, followed by Liam, who was crying.

Ian kicked at Frank's forgotten chair and Debbie squealed, her hands going over her mouth.

"Hey!" Jimmy yelled, standing up and pointing a finger in Ian's direction.

"Fuck you, Jimmy, stay out of this!" Ian snapped, face snake like.

"Ian, calm down!" Fiona screamed as Frank struggled to buck free.

This hadn't been Ian's intention; to start a full on fight. Just that everything was weighing him down. And Ian's tempter was worse now. The Army had placed him in anger management just before diagnosing Ian with post traumatic stress disorder. What most people would only get miffed by, Ian flew off the handle. He'd always been slightly tester than most, but now he got out of control at times. Seeing Frank trying to pretend he was sad set Ian off. He stomped forward, teeth bared and ready to rip Frank from Fiona's hold.

Thank goodness for Carl finally stepping in and decking Ian.

xxx

Mickey couldn't believe this was even happening. Iggy and June had both been denied custody of Luis, though they hadn't wanted it to begin with. June because she was clinically unstable. Iggy because he had done hard time for armed robbery, was scheduled to check into a methadone clinic and was obviously unfit. Tommy wasn't a consideration because he wasn't closest of kin. So here Mickey sat in the back of June's car yet again. This time, Iggy had bounced five minutes ago while June was in the building using the restroom. Mickey and Luis waited outside. She was taking forever. And quite honestly, Mickey figured Iggy was right. Why wait on the bitch. He looked over at Luis, who had wrapped his wiry arms around his chicken legs and was resting his forehead and eyes.

"Come on," Mickey said, opening the door and putting one leg out.

Luis opened his eyes and turned his head a little, looking at Mickey. "What about June?" he asked.

Mickey shook his head and stepped out. He straightened out his clothes and leaned down, face in the opened door, holding to the car's roof. "You're stuck with me, kid," he said. "And I'm not waiting on that crazy bitch. Come on."

xxx

A sack of peas held against his cheek, Ian sat across from Frank at the kitchen table. Glaring. But calmer now. Frank seemed proud of himself Probably the moron thought he'd won this, had gotten everyone on his side. Well, he hadn't. Not so far as Ian could tell.

Debbie sat on a stool beside of Ian, resting her cheek against his shoulder as they listened to Fiona. Carl was sitting on the counter, watching Frank closely. Jimmy was sitting on the stairs, holding Liam. All ears as Fiona bitched into her coffee mug. "He's Lips," she said. "Anybody can tell that he's a Gallagher."

Ian dropped the bag of peas to the table, ignoring the throb of his face. He leaned forward and said, "If you don't have it in writing, Fee, there's no chance for a custody battle."

Debbie, who looked disappointed because Ian had moved, scratched her head and sighed, biting her lip. "Well, we can still have a DNA test," she interjected.

"Debbie's right!" Fiona said, looking cocky. She used her hands as she spoke. "No way am I letting Lip's kid go to Mandy's mom. You know," she said, staring firmly at Ian, "that's what the courts will grant. Kid's always go to the grandparents!"

Taking a deep breath, Ian snuffed out the twist in his gut.

"My nephew," Fiona went on, "is not going to live with a prostitute! I don't care if she's 'retired' or not. He needs to be with real family! Not those wack job Milkovichs."

A chuckle came from Frank's side of the table, halting all conversation. Everyone looking at him, Frank grinned nostalgically and took a swig from his bottle. "Hooker with a heart of gold," the bastard slurred.

"Shut up, Frank!" Fiona snapped.

It took another twenty or so minutes before Frank stumbled out the door. Another ten after that before Fiona looked at Ian and said, "Go talk to Mickey. He's probably at the courthouse right now. Find out what's going on."

Ian looked confused. He pointed to his chest. What the hell? "Me?" he asked. No way was he going to hunt down Mickey. Not after earlier.

"I'm not ignorant, Ian," Fiona sighed, whispering. "I know you two have history. He'll listen to you."

Ian laughed, shaking his head. His sister didn't know what the hell she was even asking.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five_

Mickey caught up to Iggy in front of a McDonalds. Iggy was in the process of bumming money right outside the doors. Waiting by the crosswalk, Mickey watched his brother get fed up and begin walking away. Mickey rolled his eyes, holding Luis's hand as they ran across the street between vehicles. Horns blaring at them. Despite everything that had gone on, funeral and all, Luis laughed while Mickey stopped traffic to kick a dent into a pissed off woman's Impala.

"Go to hell, cunt!" Mickey bellowed and kicked again. The woman whipped out a phone and began dialing, probably the police. Mickey flipped her off and hurried Luis along.

Rushing through a group of elderly tourists, Mickey and Luis reached Iggy before he began ascending the passage to the El. Mickey let go of Luis and grabbed Iggy's elbow. Whirled Iggy around.

Iggy jerked free, pulling a face. He tugged his sleeve, eyeing Luis. To Mickey, he said, "I thought you were riding back with June until tomorrow?"

Mickey shook his head.

Luis reach up and held to Mickey's coat as the tourists shoved past them. His small frame squished to Mickey's leg. His big eyes watched Iggy.

"Where are you staying?" Mickey asked.

Iggy scratched the back of his neck. "Dunno," he said slowly. "I have zero money, zero home, and zero fucks to give about putting you up too."

Mickey scowled. Thumbing his lip, he said, "Don't get cocky, asshole. I meant, I'm getting a hotel if you want a bed instead of a bench." he rested his hand on Luis's head.

Iggy smirked. "You serious?" he asked. "Fuck right, I do."

xxx

Mickey Milkovich was definitely not going to listen to Ian; Fiona was wishful and wrong. Whatever was going on with custody of Mandy and Lip's child, Ian was sure Mickey was going to not include Ian purely out of spite. Still, he wanted to meet his brother's son. According to Fiona, Mandy showed up the week after Thanksgiving, walking down the street with the boy and two suitcases, one over her shoulder and the kid pulling the other along. Fiona, at the time, was arguing with Jimmy out front and spotted the pair. She claimed that it only took a single flash for her to know that boy was a Gallagher. He apparently looked exactly like Lip and Ian had as children. But also a lot like Mandy. For sure, she'd said, those curls and freckles were a dead giveaway. So she'd gone in and immediately called Lip at college. He hadn't arrived back in Chicago until the week before Christmas. Engineering school and all. Fiona hated herself because she hadn't begged him to come sooner.

If Lip had come sooner, he'd probably be alive.

As it was, Lip was gone and Ian was running down the stairs of the El, bumping into a dozen people and getting death glares. His stomach torn to pieces and his head pounding. He figured Mickey was probably not still at the courthouse. And even if he was, Ian had no idea how he was going to worm his way in.

He kept picturing Mickey sitting in a room full of lawyers with his mother, signing papers. Gone by now, back to wherever he was living these days. The boy gone with them. And with the child, the blood of Lip Gallagher. No way of knowing how to contact Mickey's mom, if that was really who got custody.

Ian had never even met Mickey's mother. He'd seen her once, the day before Mickey left Chicago. She'd been with the man Ian knew was Mickey's uncle. Had dropped Mickey off at home after his release from jail.

Mandy once told Ian her mother was dead. Mickey had said Mandy just wished Sonja was dead. In fact, his mother was off of drugs and had been around, picking Colin up from jail the first year Ian and Mickey went at it.

Sonja was a short woman with the build of a thirteen year old girl. Had track marks all up her arms and bags under her eyes big enough to weigh down her round face. But Ian, even from a distance, could see she was once pretty. Looked a lot like Mandy, if Mandy had solid black hair and Mickey's mouth. Ian didn't remember seeing that woman at the Milkovich funeral. But he hadn't tried looking around, really, so probably he'd missed her.

Ian jumped the last few steps. If he had any hopes of catching Mickey or Sonja outside of the courthouse, he'd have to book it. From this exit, the courthouse was only a block away. From the tops of tourists hats, Ian saw yellow arches of a McDonalds. He shoved through the old folks and stepped on someone's foot. A kid's foot.

A small voice called out.

xxx

"Shit!" a surprising voice said, reaching down, not really focusing on the current company, and touching Luis's shoulder apologetically, "Sorry."

Mickey stared wide-eyed at Ian, still wearing half of his funeral getup.

xxx

"Sorry," Ian said to the boy he'd ran in to. It had been hard to maneuver through the crowd of tourists. He hadn't even noticed someone was standing still. Plus the boy was no higher than Ian's thigh. If that. Ian bent down and picked up the item the boy had dropped. His brain still wasn't focusing on anything but how much he needed to hurry. One of those fast winded blurs. He looked at the child's face as he offered out the piece of glossy paper. Ian knitted his brow.

It happened fast. Registering that he was looking at a kid identical to him as a boy. Almost. There were differences that would make most people not bat a lash. But Ian had been forced to look at enough pictures of him and Lip.

Slowly, Ian looked at the paper in his hand. At the picture of Mandy Milkovich.

His mouth fell open slightly, and his brows went up. He stared owl like at the boy as he handed over the picture.

The kid took the picture and shied away from Ian, digging further into what was clearly Mickey's leg.

"Ian Gallagher?" a rough voice blurted to Ian's left.

Ian looked at the person speaking to him. He didn't know the face perfectly, but recognized that this was Mickey's other brother. The one who had tormented Lip through the entire fourth grade before getting expelled and moved to another school district.

Standing back up straight, Ian looked to Mickey. "Hey," he said. Well. This was awkward.

xxx

Mickey studied Ian's shocked face. Saw how Ian kept looking down at Luis. Luis, who was pretty much about to pull Mickey's pants down by accident. He swatted the boy's hand and pushed Luis back some, eyes never once leaving Ian's. He wasn't sure what to make of this. Obviously this was not an accidental bump in. He knew the Gallaghers well enough to guess their ringleader had sent Ian over to the courthouse. Though, how Fiona had known a custody pre-hearing was going on today, he couldn't guess.

"I'm hungry," Luis piped up, grabbing Mickey's coat tail again, despite being tugged off.

Glancing behind him, Mickey said, "Just a minute."

"Um," Ian muttered, eyes glued to Luis. He shook himself, blinking a few times and going back to meeting Mickey's eyes. "I just. . .Fiona thought-"

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ," he hissed. He looked at Iggy sternly and handed over his wallet, debit card inside. He removed a twenty and pocketed it. "Go get a room at the Days Inn near Shire Street," he said, wallet hanging in the air. "Meet you there in an hour." After Iggy grabbed the wallet, smiling, pleased, Mickey added, "I find out you spend a cent more than for food and a room, I'll gut you."

"Right," Iggy said, still smiling. "See you!" And he was off, up the ramp.

xxx

Luis ate his fries like Carl used to. Wadded them all into a giant ball, salted them, and ate the creation like an apple. Ian grinned as he watched this. Personally, Ian ate his fries one at a time, no ketchup, tons of salt. Looking between Luis and Mickey, Ian found himself nostalgic. Mickey's consumption of fries was a sight to behold. He ate like someone was ready to jerk the tray out from under him. Six or so fries at a time, sloppily dipped in the ketchup and rammed into his mouth. No way could he be chewing more than three times before swallowing. Ian chuckled and drank some of his pop. Just like always, Mickey didn't bother with napkins, just licked his fingers semi-clean and wiped the rest on his pants. And even after that, the remnants remained.

Coughing, probably from a frie lodged somewhere, Mickey tossed his trash into a pile on the McDonalds tray and looked over at Luis. A strange look passed over Mickey's face. The corner of his mouth quirked only slightly. He arched a sharp brow. Luis had bits of fry all over him

"And what do you call that?" Mickey asked suddenly, eyeing the half eaten wad of fries in Luis now greasy hands.

Luis looked up at Mickey and back at his food He glanced once at Ian, then shrugged. "Fry ball," he said and took another bite.

Mickey licked his lips and scratched his cheek in an attempt to hide his smirk. He grabbed up Luis's drink and his own, went for refills.

Ian sat back in the booth and studied Luis some more.

The trio had been in this McDonalds for almost twenty minutes now. Mickey hadn't really spoken to Ian except to inform him that, if Ian wanted to talk he'd have to wait until Mickey fed the animal. Luis thought that was pretty funny. Ian thought it strange that Mickey was actually not bad with the kid.

Chewing his thumb nail for a second, Ian leaned forward on the table. He hadn't gotten to speak to Luis, either. While Mickey was in line for refills, Ian jumped at the chance. Because kid's were loose with words, Ian might actually get straight answers out of Luis. So, leaning forward, he turned the picture the cashier had given Luis around. Two crayons were on top of it, red and blue. The image was of a dalmatian wearing a fireman's suit and hat, holding a water hose. Luis had scribbled it completely blue. Signed his name in red. No effort. The kid had simply taken a solid look at the paper, grabbed the blue crayon, and attacked, pushed it aside and went at his fries. Ian looked at Luis, who had stopped eating and was watching Ian back. Ian said, smiling, "Interesting coloring choice."

"His water hose busted," Luis explained, reaching out and using his greasy, tiny finger to tap the blue dog. Once Luis realized he had relaxed, his eyes widened and he withdrew his hand quickly. He looked over his shoulder to Mickey, who was finally next in line.

"Have you ever met your uncle before today?" Ian asked, trying to spark up the information he was gunning for.

Luis shook his head, bangs going in his eyes. He pushed his hands into the coat beside of him, Mickey's coat, and dug out the picture of Mandy. Gently he laid it beside of the Happy Meal box and stared longingly at it.

Ian's chest constricted. He felt a ball in his throat. The last time Ian had seen Mandy, she'd shoved him hard out of her front door, crying. Days later, after Lip went back to Karen, Mandy Milkovich disappeared. No phone calls, no postcards, no nothing. Just gone. Staring at the picture of Mandy, sticking her tongue out and winking at the camera, Ian breathed deep and frowned. She looked to be about twenty in the lopsided picture. Obviously one taken by Luis. Maybe close to one of the last times the boy had spent with his mother. Ian wondered what Mandy's life had been like.

Mickey was coming back over.

Quickly, Ian looked back at Luis. "Sorry about your mom," he said.

Luis, eyes tearing up, met Ian's gaze. "Did you know mama?" he asked, voice barely a squeak.

Ian nodded slowly. "Who are you going to stay with now?" Ian asked, brazen.

Luis looked down at the coat. "The lady says we have to go back and see. I'm with Mickey tonight," he said and seemed to relax again toward Ian, maybe this time for good. The boy pulled his legs up and hugged his knees, played with the edge of the table. "Do you have a mama?" he asked, voice hurting, eyes still downcast.

That ache in Ian's chest magnified. He exhaled long and slow, blinking a few times to figure out how to steer this conversation. Children were fragile things, especially given what Luis was going through. Ian and Carl had been emotional wrecks when Monica left the first time. Especially Carl. But even that didn't compare to how Luis must feel. Mandy hadn't just left. Mandy was never coming back.

"My mom isn't a very nice person," Ian settled for. "Not like your mom was, I bet," he smiled softly.

Luis rubbed at his wet eyes. "Mama said she was going to her home to find my daddy," he told.

"Did she say who that was?" Ian asked.

Luis shook his head.

"Well," Ian said, whispering now that Mickey was walking faster, "I think I know who."

Luis's big eyes jumped. Mouth open, he looked at Ian, sad, pleading.

Mickey plopped down at the booth, handed over Luis's cup and chewed up straw. He took a drink of his own and sat it down. Wiping the crook of his mouth, he commanded Ian's attention, stating, straight to the point, "Fiona wants custody, I guess?"

Looking from Mickey to Luis fast, Ian knitted his brow and asked, "Have the courts said anything? I mean, will there be a hearing?"

Sighing, Mickey rubbed his knuckles and looked at Luis. "What do you want?" he asked the boy, ignoring Ian's questions.

Luis stared back, holding his legs tightly. "I dunno," he murmured.

"Ain't like you got much to choose from," Mickey said, plucking up a fry crumb from his tray. His voice was surprisingly easy.

A fat tear streaked down Luis's face. "I don't know anybody," he said into his knees.

Mickey sighed again and closed his eyes. "Except Aunt June. You want to live with that crazy woman?" he asked, honestly.

Luis took pause, staring at Mickey's profile.

Ian drummed his fingers on the table. Got Mickey's attention. "What wrong with your aunt?" Ian asked, curious for any information he could get. Anything to teach him more about Mandy's life; about his nephew.

Mickey snorted. "She's a legit skitzo," he said.

Brow up, Ian leaned back in the booth and rubbed his chin. "Serious?" he asked.

"Yeah," Mickey said. "Crazy as a shit-house rat. I don't understand why Mandy. . ." he trailed, looked at Luis, and shook himself. "Nevermind."

Ian cleared his throat and stretched out his arms. Eyes on Luis now, who was back to holding Mandy's picture, still pretzeled up, Ian picked up the coloring. "Can I have this?" he asked.

Confused, Luis nodded. Ian figured the boy was itching to know just who the hell Ian was.

"You should go," Mickey said, abrupt. But his voice was steps away from angry.

Turning to meet Mickey's eyes, Ian's stomach sank. Go? Definitely the last thing Ian wanted to do was walk away from this boy and leave it to chance that Mickey would leave the state with Luis. Being in this child's presence made Ian feel close to Lip.

"You have anything says Lip's his father?" Mickey asked, and no sooner than the words left his mouth did Luis perk up and keen in on the words between them.

Ian shook his head. "Not that I know of," he said.

Mickey picked up his coat and began putting it on, saying, "The court hearing is tomorrow." He stood up and waved for Luis to follow suit. "I'll see what I can do to push it off."

* * *

**Meet Luis! **

**Sorry it took so long for me to update. I'm at that point in my drawn up plot that is going to be a bitch to push through. Once I'm past it, all hell will break loose. Enojy! R&R please!**


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter Six_

Pushing off the court date had gone over well; an entire month worth of extra time. But not because of Mickey.

Sitting on the front steps, huffing down the last of his cigarette, Ian watched a group of kids trudge down the street, pushing a wagon full of random scrap wood. He sighed, wondering when Fiona would wake up, so that he could get the skipped details from her. All he knew was what Jimmy told Ian and the others during breakfast this morning while Fiona went back to bed. The date was set for February first. The Gallaghers were to attend. Specifically, Fiona. Ian assumed this meant Fiona had stomped into the courthouse before breakfast, before or maybe even during Mickey's meeting. Obviously she'd convinced a judge to hold off for a paternity test. But Lip was buried and Ian doubted Fiona was going to go so far as having the body exhumed.

He blew up smoke and tossed the butt. Getting to his feet and dusting off his wet backside, Ian looked up at Fiona's window. She wouldn't be up for another few hours. The kids were back to school now. Jimmy had crawled back into bed as well. Which left Ian bored, curious, and lonely.

Life goes on and Ian was actually supposed to be job hunting. But Ian was trying to push that off for many different reasons. One being his haunting diagnosis that would make working anything he'd actually enjoy basically impossible. Two being he wanted time off. So his plan, after breakfast, had been to wander around the city and waste a couple hours, so he could come home and say he'd gone out and tried. Now, Ian figured he had a better idea.

Rubbing his hands together, Ian made his way to the El and boarded. Destination, Days Inn.

xxx

"This is bullshit, Mickey."

Mickey rolled his eyes at Iggy and pulled Luis's shirt over his head. Tossed the muddy garment in the floor and pointed to the bathroom door. "Make it quick," he told Luis, then pushed up from his haunches and threw his hands out at Iggy. "What do you want me to do? Knock off all the Gallaghers?" he asked, exasperated.

Iggy pursed his lips, scratching at his arm under his hoodie sleeve, and nodded, shaking his legs. "Not a half bad idea," he said from his seat near the window.

"Shit," Mickey laughed sarcastically.

Iggy shook his head and held it, hair bunched up in his fingers, stooped over now. "How much honest money do you make every year, bro?" Iggy asked, voice nasal given his position.

Furrowing his brow, Mickey said, "Not a lot," he paused, "around twenty-eight grand."

Sitting up right again, Iggy nodded, licking his lips. "And Fiona Gallagher's husband makes triple that, I bet. Or more. You know as much as me that the courts grant custody to 'most fit' meaning not you."

After a long breather and simply staring down at his brother, Mickey shook himself, grabbed up his smokes from the side table, and stepped onto the outside stairway for some lung cancer. Stood outside, watching a family unpacking their shit. He smoked his cigarette slowly, enjoying the icy wind that calmed him.

Iggy was right; Luis would go to Fiona if she could prove a Gallagher was the father. Lip.

Blowing a few rings, Mickey pictured Luis leaving the courthouse earlier that morning. Getting splashed by a moped going through a puddle of mudd. Luis and his joker's grin, dust freckles, and easy going attitude. Luis and his sharp brown eyes, like Mandy.

xxx

Ian was in luck. He spotted Mickey standing outside, smoke puffed up around the man like he was on fire internally. Which he probably was, given Fiona's action this morning. Ian was glad not to have to scout out the hotel and find Mickey. Likewise, he was now a bundle of nausea. Mickey was probably livid. Five years passed or not, Ian knew how Mickey ticked. All of Mickey's family was gone now, save Iggy and probably Sonja and Tommy. Ian figured June didn't count, being as Mickey seemed to hold a lot of disdain for the lady. Luis was all Mickey had left of Mandy, though. And Mickey had loved Mandy more than he'd like others to know. Mickey being the actually soft hearted bastard that he is, Ian just knew Mickey wasn't going down without a fight. Would certainly not hand over Luis willingly with a tip of a hat. And actually, Ian didn't expect Mickey too.

So, standing behind a huge truck, Ian gained his nerve and started toward the stairs. Mickey must have spotted him, because Ian saw his ex curse and kick at the railing.

xxx

As Ian came up the staircase, Mickey gave the railing one more kick, then shook snow off his boot. He turned around, scowling, and plucked the cigarette from his lips. Blew out, mad. The smoke passed over Ian, who coughed only once. Mickey glared. "The fuck are you doing here?" he asked, hateful.

Ian rubbed the back of his neck. Big eyes focused on the sky, mouth open, clearly crashing his brain for an explanation. Not like he actually needed one. Mickey already knew the answer. Finally, Ian said, "I don't know what went on this morning, but I was hoping someone could fill me in."

"Your sister not tell you?" Mickey asked, taking another drag, one eyes squinted shut.

Ian shook his head. "Jimmy just said the date was pushed to February, and Fiona's supposed to show up," Ian sighed, shrugging.

"So you know," Mickey said, pursing his lips. "What's left to tell?"

Ian rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Mickey," he trailed, "I'm not looking to piss you off-"

"Too late," Mickey laughed, interrupting. He then tossed down his cigarette and waved his hand in a circle, told Ian to please, do go on.

"Drop the attitude," Ian deadpanned. A frown crept up on his face. "Look," he began, "we've both been through a lot recently. I think it's safe to say neither of us expected. . ." he breathed, ran a hand through his stubby hair. "Expected this," he sighed, meaning Luis and knowing Mickey got the point. "I'm in the middle right now," he admitted. "If my sister is trying for full custody, I know you're probably upset and-"

"Oh yeah," Mickey snapped, brow cocked, lips set tight.

Ian sighed, obviously overlooking Mickey's hostile vibe. "How bad. . ." Ian trailed, fumbled openly for his words. He cleared his throat, then went on, "Is this a pissing contest for you, or do you legitimately want something to do with Luis?" His voice was blunt, finally growing a backbone and getting to the point of his visit.

Pulling a face, Mickey looked away from Ian. Pissing contest? Mickey knew what Ian was getting at. And he had to pause and ask himself the truth. Was he going to bother going to the hearing or was he going to hand the kid over? If he was going to go, why? Was it honestly because he wanted the boy in his life? Or was it because the kid was a Milkovich and Mickey was simply fighting on a pissed over rock?

Finally Mickey chuckled, a small bitter smile on his face when he looked back at Ian. A pang hit him hard at the look he was faced with. An all too familiar hurting face, angry and upset at Mickey in particular. But also mad at the world.

Mickey exhaled and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Any minute now, Iggy was probably going to overhear this conversation and come outside, make things even worse. Before that could happen, Mickey made a conscious decision to be completely honest with Ian Gallagher for this first time in his entire life. "I don't want this responsibility," Mickey said, voice muted. "I wasn't expecting this responsibility." When Ian opened his mouth, Mickey glared, halting the interruption. "Yesterday, when that cunt lawyer threw it in my lap, I wanted to toss it up and bounce. Leave the kid with June while she was in the pisser," he confessed. It hurt to say out loud what a coward he'd been. "But I didn't," he said, rubbing a temple. he patted his pockets and fished out his pack of smokes. Lit up again. Going for nicotine overdose, apparently. Two packs a day was pushing it. "I figure," Mickey said, gut twisted at saying this out loud, "I've fucked up enough. Maybe it's time I give it a rest and do the right thing for once."

Ian's frown had softened to a stunned, awed expression. A half grin came to his face after a minute. "Okay," Ian said, serious, "so you do actually give a shit about someone."

"Fuck you," Mickey quipped. "I always gave a shit." And by the look on Ian's face, Mickey knew the remark cut deep. he'd meant for it to. "Anyway," Mickey said, clearing his throat, "I gotta get in there before my brother sells Luis off for some smack." And he was only half joking.

Looking panicked, Ian blurted, "Can I see him?"

Mickey, hand on his room knob, looked back at Ian. His eyes gave Ian another once over. Heart still racing, Mickey nodded. "Gotta get him a new shirt," Mickey said, his voice deep. "Guy on a liquor sickle doused the old one."

Ian stared for a few second. "He only has one shirt?" he finally asked, brows knitting.

Mickey shrugged. "June ran off with his bag," he said. A brief paused passed. Mickey sighed. Finally he asked, "You got anything better to do?" To which Ian was confused. Clarifying, Mickey said, "Take him to find something." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have to call home and let my supervisor know what's going on. Figure out what to do with my brother." He opened the door only a crack. "Hang on a second."

xxx

Ten minutes later, Ian found himself in a Kids R Us with only his supposed nephew and Mickey's Visa. Times were certainly strange.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter Seven_

After figuring out what size shirt Luis wore, Ian was quick to leave Kids R Us. Especially given that Luis picked up most ever toy the pair walked by. Ian didn't figure Mickey would appreciate spending more than just for a shirt. He'd seemed adamant. And though Ian was on a strict budget until he finally looked for a job, he ended up carrying some dumb looking, storytelling dog to the counter along with Luis's six shirts, three pairs of jeans, and a new coat. And a new pair of shoes. Ian, having grown up in only hand-me-downs, understood the pain of worn out clothes and sneakers. A little over a hundred and fifty dollars spent between both Ian's cash and Mickey's Visa later, and Ian was headed back toward the Holiday Inn.

Slurping down a slushi that Ian had picked up on the way back, Luis sat against Ian's hip on the El, pointy elbows digging backwards into Ian's thigh. The stuffed dog on the boy's lap rambled on about friendship pacts and being responsible. Ian looked down at the boy's relaxed face. Wondered how Luis was taking everything going on in his upside-down life right now. Dead mom. Being bounced around. Strangers taking care of him. All things that Ian had once experienced, save the dead mother bit. Although Monica had given that a go as well, and had thankfully failed.

Clearing his throat, Ian dragged, "So, do you like your new toy?"

Luis nodded, eyes never leaving the dog's flapping mouth.

"What are you going to name it?" Ian asked as the El stopped one spot ahead of their exit.

"Radar," Luis piped, biting the end of his thumb.

Ian smiled. "Nice one," he said. And all fell silent again. Ian wasn't really shocked at how little Luis spoke. But that didn't stop him wishing the kid would open up and talk until the ache in Ian's chest stopped. Which would likely never happen. Losing Lip hurt worse than all things else. They'd been the closest. This ache was permanent.

"Ian?" Luis's voice rang through Ian's thoughts. Like a bomb.

Ian looked down and hummed.

Looking up, brows raised, the boy asked, "How you know mama?"

The wind felt knocked out of him. And why? It was such an innocent question. But a fucking complicated string of answers followed. Which one to feed Luis made Ian nervous. He settled for saying, "She was my best friend before I moved away."

"Oh," Luis said, nodding. His dark eyes glued to Ian's. He sniffed once, then asked, "Where did you move at?"

"North Carolina," Ian informed. "Way away from here," he breathed, eyes bulging, looking out the window and away from Luis's curious watch. After a few minutes, the El stopped. Ian exhaled, patted Luis's back, and began standing, grabbing up the bags while Luis hugged his dog. Once on the platform, Ian thought he must have misheard the small voice near his legs. "What?" he asked, looking down as they descended the stairs.

"Mickey says," Luis began, "you might be family to me too."

Mouth agape slightly, Ian blinked a few times and stood still. He furrowed his brow and collected his features. Nodding gently, he said, "Just maybe. Probably."

A big grin spread across Luis's face and he grasped Ian's hand tighter. "I hope!" he exclaimed. "Cause I like you. You're nice," so went his reasoning. And when Ian blushed and chuckled, squeezing Luis's hand, the boy rolled his eyes, cute when grumpy, and said, "Not like some people."

Ian hated that his mind immediately went to Mickey. The guy probably wasn't mean to Luis. Ian had seen Mickey's honesty earlier. Still, the mind wonders. He frowned and, walking carefully through the Holiday Inn parking deck, asked Luis if his uncle Mickey was nice to him or not.

Luis was quick to snort and grin, shaking his curls around. "Yeah and funny too," he said.

This brought an amused grin to Ian's mouth. They stopped at the foot of the stairs to Mickey's level, cold air wiping Luis's hair and wind-breaker. Ian's back was safe from the assault, but his face took an icy beating as he turned to face the kid. "He's funny?" Ian asked, disbelieving.

Luis opened his mouth to speak. But his lips didn't move even though an answer came. Came in a deadpan, rough voice from behind Ian's back.

"You bet. I'm hilarious."

xxx

Watching Ian tense up at the sound of Mickey's voice was probably the highlight of the ex-felon's morning. He crossed his arms and sniffed up his runny nose while Ian did an about face and met Mickey with a surprised stare. Mickey nodded down at the bag in Ian's hand. "Thought I said A shirt," Mickey gripped, frowning. "I ain't made of money, Gallagher." His eyes flew to the stuffed animal his nephew clutched like it was golden. A slight smirk touched Mickey's lips. Despite his annoyance at probably having maybe twenty bucks left in his account now. "What's with the pooch?" he asked Luis, tilting his chin.

Luis, unfazed, looked at the animal and hugged it tighter. If that were possible. All the while, Ian was growing angry faced.

"He tells stories!" Luis said, like that solved everything. Big eyes gleaming.

Mickey snorted. He supposed the boy needed something that made him forget what was going on, even if only for a few minutes at a time. He reached out his hand until Luis got the point and handed over the toy. Looking it over, Mickey said, "Looks expensive."

Ian scowled. "Leave him alone," he snapped, calm. "I bought it, not you," he snubbed. "So don't worry."

Face falling from frustrated yet humored to shock and, even worse, angry, Mickey shoved the dog back into Luis's hands. He grabbed the boy's wrist and held it loosely. Glaring at Ian, Mickey snarled, "I don't give a shit to buy him whatever!" Realizing how defensive he must sound, he gained a grip on himself. Face smoothing only a little, he sighed, licked the corner of his mouth and explained, "I'm just strapped right now."

xxx

It was safe to say Ian hadn't seen Mickey look this offended since Ian's last, once-upon-a-time visit to juvie. The memory of Mickey's pained eyes glaring daggers while he said absolutely nothing to Ian's remorse would likely haunt Ian's dreams for another five more years. Eventually, he hoped to rid himself of it and all other images. Not like he had much of an option. Done was done, but for real this time.

Still, this particular upset was a slight over reaction, in Ian's opinion.

And suddenly, Luis halted all argument by turning on the dog. between the silence came a story of Miss Kitty and a regretful robbery. Ian watched as Mickey's head very slowly shifted to look at Luis. Mickey licked his lips and plucked the dog from Luis's hand. Turned it off, very matter-of-fact. Brow cocked, face relaxed, he said to the kid, "Go to the room and get Iggy. Tell him I said hurry up if he wants to keep out of the cold."

Luis looked longingly at the dog. Frowned and sighed. Obviously frustrated, he stomped up the steps. Ian watched Luis until he was out of sight, aware of Mickey eyes boring into him. Finally he looked back at Mickey. Mickey with the stuffed dog dangling by his hip. They stared for a few minutes before Mickey dug out his smoked and offered one over. Obliging, Ian waited patiently for Mickey to hand over a lighter. The smoke billowing between them, Ian handed over Mickey's Visa card.

No thank you involved, Mickey pocketed the card and breathed out smoke like it was air from his lungs. "He seem like he's doing all right to you?" Mickey asked, abrupt and unexpected.

Taking a deep drag, Ian nodded. "I guess," he said, "but he doesn't really open up much."

"Yeah," Mickey breathed. "Kid's a lot like my sister." He sniffed hard and spit a lugi off to the side. Coughing a few times, he said, "I'm sorry about your brother." And the words were extremely unexpected. Welcomed, but still. His eyes met Ian's and flicked away fast. "I uh," he rubbed his lower lip with the thumb nearest the cigarette, smoke likely stinging his eyes, "found my sister's phone in June's glovebox." When all Ian did was watch and wait, Mickey continued, "She had a few messages from your brother on it." He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the ground. "I don't know if you want to listen to them," he said, shrugging. "I haven't really."

Ian sucked on his bottom lip, face furrowed, wishing Mickey would look back up. "How do you know they're from Lip if you didn't listen?" Ian asked

Mickey finally looked up, flicked away his finished cigarette. "Mandy had them labeled and shit," he said.

Her name hung in the air, suffocating. Finally Ian shook himself and dropped his cigarette butt, ground it out with his foot. "Yeah," he said. "Do you have it on you?"

Reaching into his pocket, Mickey pulled out a black and silver hybrid-phone. Some red and yellow charm dangling from the case. It was scratched to pieces. The protective screen cover was bubbled up. Ian took it and stared at his reflection in the screen.

"I charged it yesterday," Mickey said through clearing his throat. "Just bring it back when you're done."

Placing the phone in his pocket, Ian smiled softly at Mickey. "Thanks," he said.

Mickey arched his brows and looked off, fluffing out his jacket. "Whatever," he huffed.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter Eight_

Fiona sat on the sofa, staring through the archway at Ian. Ian, who was still playing with his food. He hadn't eaten more than three bites. She could tell he was nervous about something. Lately, everybody was off-kilter, but since yesterday, Ian was more of a ghost around the house. Sighing, Fiona sat down her cup of yogurt and dusted off her pajama pants, standing. Hands on her hips, she scrunched her face and said, "You okay?"

It was only her and Ian in the house. Jimmy was at work. The kids were at school. She knew he heard her in all this quiet.

Ian sat down his fork and leaned back in the kitchen chair. Staring straight ahead and crossing his bare arms, he chewed his lip. "I'm fine," he eventually said.

Watching him for a minute before responding, Fiona relaxed her arms and softened her face. She stepped into the kitchen, bare feet padding on the linoleum. Walked over and placed her hand on Ian's shoulder. He looked up at her, still working on chewing through his lips. "Go put a shirt on," Fiona said, "and get some air or something. You're making me nervous."

Shaking his head and exhaling slowly, loud, Ian lifted his hands and rubbed over his scalp a few times, collecting himself. He propped his elbows on the table, cupping his mouth. "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do," he said.

"What do you mean?" Fiona asked, brow knitted, hand still in place. Confused. Her brother was hard to read sometimes.

"Now!" Ian sighed, exasperated. "What and I supposed to do with this god damned diagnosis hovering over me? I can't work with this!"

Fiona rolled her eyes, patting his shoulder. "Quit blubbering. I bet Linda will have you back-"

Ian shook her off, puss faced. He stood up fast. "I'm not going back to shit end jobs, Fee," he said, serious, facing her now. He reminded Fiona so much of their mother before she was crazy. "I won't do it," he said, firmly. "I know what I want out of life, and that's not it. This," he sighed, "is not it."

"What do you mean by _this_?" Fiona snapped, assuming. She crossed her arms, glaring at him, brows together and mouth tight. "What's wrong with _this_?"

A look of realization washed over him. He stared, mouth open to find words, eyes big and searching. Finally he apologized. "I just worked so hard to get away from poverty, Fiona," he said quietly. "Not that you live in it anymore," he went on, calming her features some with his new direction. "I honestly don't know why you and Jimmy stay here."

Fiona licked her teeth and sat down in Ian's forgotten chair. She looked up at him with her legs crossed, smiling nostalgically. Anger long forgotten. "Because this is where all of my memories are," she said. "You, Debbs, Carl, Liam. . .Lip," she trailed. "Good and bad, I love this place. And I don't care if people think I'm crazy." Laughing, she added, "Plus, Frank would be far too hammered to find us if we moved."

Her words brought a smile to Ian's lips. "Isn't that the point?" he chuckled.

They stared at each other for a few minutes. A ball started welling up in Fiona's throat, Ian's eyes looking through her like they were. Mouth trembling, she waved him away. A tear streaked down her cheek and she was quick to rid it.

"Fee?" Ian said, reaching out.

She grabbed his hand to shove it away, but ended up clutching his fingers. Ian stepped closer, gripping back and just waiting. Smiling through her tears, she said, "You know, someone needs to clean out Lip's apartment before the city does."

When she let his hand go, cleared her throat, and shook herself, Ian nodded and went toward the stairs. A few minutes later, he was fully dressed and out the door.

xxx

It would take more than one trip to finish cleaning out Lip's place.

Standing in the doorway, Ian looked around. It looked like Lip had only just started moving his stuff into the place. Still, there was a lot of things here. Unpacked boxes of electronics out the ass Boxed up clothes and other stuff. And Lip had unpacked a few bookshelves, his dishes, and a few suitcases full of bathroom necessities and t-shirts. The unpacked clothing was draped over his brother's blue, leather sectional. Cords for the television set that hadn't been turned on yet were hanging around a tall lamp. A fish tank stood between the living room windows. Dead fish floating upside down at the top of the water. Some sinked to the bottom.

Ian stepped in and shut the door, walked into the kitchen. It looked like Lip had cooked something and never cleaned up his mess. Beer bottles were littered everywhere. So were containers of takeout Chinese food and pizza boxes.

Textbooks covered all surfaces where food and trash was not.

Ian grinned and picked up a psychology book that laid open, highlighted to the point of no return. He held it and looked down at the opened notebook with Lip's scribble all in it.

Lip would have made an excellent psychiatrist. Whose night job was hacking banking systems and aiding and abetting auto theft.

Chest growing tight and throat burning, Ian was quick to sit the items back down and pull up a stool. He sat in the stool for a few minutes, crying quietly. Finally, getting control of himself, Ian went to explore more of Lip's place. See what he would have to deal with.

The bathroom was a wreck. Wet towels, dirty clothes. He walked to the bedroom. Which was actually pretty clean. The only things inside were the bed, unmade; more unopened boxes, and Lip's bookbag and computer.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Ian figured he should call up a moving company and have them collect everything. Bring it back to Fiona's place. Donate the furniture to a shelter or something. Probably most everything could be donated. He'd just go through it first. And that, he knew, would take days. Because he was probably going to break down every five or so minutes. Like now. He was crying again.

xxx

"I swear to fucking God," Mickey growled, hands wadded up in the back of Iggy's shirt as he hauled him up off the bathroom floor and practically threw him onto the second bed of their hotel room. "I'm not doing this!" he bellowed at Iggy, pointing, standing in the doorway to the bathroom.

Luis was outside the room, waiting patiently on the balcony like Mickey had told him to. Probably terrified, confused, and hugging that dumb dog, Radar.

"Get the fuck up!" Mickey hissed. He lowered his voice and stomped over. Iggy was all but comatose. Remnants of black tar heroin still strapped down to his arm. No response as he laid their, groaning. Mickey practically roared, gripped at his own hair and baring his teeth. Why was everything always shit in his life? When would something give? He kicked the bed, shaking Iggy. Who simply fell off and continued laying in the floor as if nothing had happened. Squatting down, Mickey exhaled loudly and scowled. He stared at his only brother. "What happened?" he breathed, talking to Iggy but not actually expecting a response now. "I thought you were getting better?" Mickey punched the floor. "Why are you such a fuck up?" he bellowed. "With the kid in the room? Really?" he continued to rant.

And, shaking his head, Mickey stood up. "Forget it," he breathed. "I'm done." And so he left the room, grabbed his and Luis's bags on the way, and met the kid outside.

He shut the door, actually, slammed it. getting control of himself, Mickey breathed in the cold, aware of Luis's eyes on him now. Once calmer, Mickey looked down and met his nephew's gaze. And he'd been right to assume the boy was scared. Red rimmed eyes and a snotty nose. A pang shot through Mickey's chest. A vision of his own childhood staring his right in the face. No way was he letting history repeat itself.

"It's fine," Mickey said as gently as his voice would allow. And his currently boiling temper. "Wipe your face off and don't think about it," he told the boy. "We're leaving. And I promise," he said, grabbing Luis's hand and looking the boy dead in the face, "you won't ever have to see that again."

xxx

Ian was taking forever. He'd been gone for the entire school day. Fiona figured maybe her brother was getting drunk in Lip's place. Probably he was. Or maybe he was simply sitting in the apartment, actually going through Lip's things and his own emotions. Either way, she was leaving Ian to it until dinner. Then she'd send Debbie or Carl after him.

Drying out the dishes, Fiona listened to the football game Jimmy was watching. Carl was in there with him, playing on his phone. Debbie was upstairs, helping Liam with his homework. The house was calm and welcoming for once since Christmas. But the throbbing pain in Fiona's chest wouldn't let up. She breathed out, hoping to alleviate it. Which didn't work.

And then a harsh knock on the kitchen door startled her. The knock got Jimmy's attention to, but he merely looked at her while she went to answer it.

"Oh, please," she called over her shoulder, annoyed with Jimmy, "let me handle it, brave man." She rolled her eyes as he turned the doorknob. And gasped, eyes bugged. "Mickey?" she slurred. Her eyes trailed over the grown man before her. Getting scruffier than he'd been at the courthouse. Then again, Fiona hadn't been paying hardly any attention to Mickey early yesterday morning. Honestly, he looked a lot cleaner than she remembered see him, growing up.

"You gonna let us in?" Mickey greeted gruffly. "It's god damned cold out here."

Fiona's eyes trailed over Mickey, shocked, and down at the boy by his knees. She cupped her mouth, on hand still gripped the doorknob too tight. From the living room, Jimmy called out, asking who it was. She drowned that out. All she could focus on was the boy in front of her. Deep brown hair and freckles. Curls wild and crazy. He needed a haircut so bad. But he looked well taken care of, surprisingly enough. Bathed and everything. His brown eyes stared back at her. Luis, was his name. Luis had his stuffed toy hugged against him, covering up his chin, nose buried in the fur. She snapped out of her daze and stepped aside.

Mickey walked in, shaking rain drops off of his scarf. He loosened the material and let go of Luis's hand. "Meet your aunt," Mickey said to Luis, not looking at the boy, but instead fighting with his scarf. Fiona could tell he felt very uncomfortable.

All of her anger toward him melted. She didn't know why she'd been mad at Mickey Milkovich in the first place, now that he was in her kitchen. He hadn't been at fault for Lip's death. Or for the courts trying to award him custody. Fucking hell, he probably didn't want custody, now that she was actually looking at him and considering his thoughts. He'd lost family too. She hugged herself and stared at Luis. "Hi," she greeted, crooning. "I'm Fiona."


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter Nine_

He could hear it from the driveway. All of that laughter. Standing back by a trashcan, Ian frowned and listened for a few minutes more. Trying to decide if going into his home was in fact wise. Laughter in the Gallagher home was scarce since Lip. Yet here it was, loud enough to be heard outside. A quirk took to Ian's mouth as he wondered what was happening inside. Shaking his head, glad for whatever it was, he gripped the box in his arm tighter, trying not to drop it, and walked up his steps. The closer he got, the better he was able to hear. To hear Debbie squealing, angry. Carl having a hearty laugh at her expense. Fiona obviously trying to hide her own amusement. And Something else entirely. Ian could hear a child's voice and knew it wasn't Liam.

His face popped and Ian sat down the box by the door, turning the knob slowly. And so was revealed the display currently happening in his living room.

Fiona stood in the archway, wearing one of Jimmy's dress shirts and a pair of jeans. Her hair was pinned up. She'd been washing dishes. Ian could tell because the shirt was damp around her waist. Hands cupped over her mouth, Fiona's eyes were lit up. Ian followed her line of sight to the pair of children holding what appeared to be finger paints. And on the floor was Debbie's school project. Also coated in the paint. The dress looked ridiculous now. Debbie marched up the stairs, fuming. And Carl was practically rolling on the floor. Ian's eyes roamed over Liam, giggling like mad. And Luis. Luis was in his living room, yellow paint smeared on his smiling face. The kid looked up, behind Fiona. Ian's eyes followed.

"What the fuck?" Mickey Milkovich, a slice of pizza folded in his hands, cheese dripping from his lip and onto his chin, scowled at the scene.

Fiona dropped her hands, revealing her wide smiled and swatted back at Mickey to hush. Eyes glued on Debbie's retreating form. "Debs!" Fiona called, still laughing, and darted at the stairs. She stopped and looked at Ian. Her smile still in place, she said, "Pizza's in the kitchen. Shut the door. You're letting all the heat out." And then she hopped her way after Debbie.

Doing as he was told, Ian tugged the box inside and shut the door behind him.

"Ian!" Luis called, jumping up beside of Liam.

"Sit your happy ass back down," Mickey gripped, scarfing down what was left of his slice. When Luis dropped fast to his bottom and looked up at Mickey, Mickey cocked a brow and stepped over. He looked down at the work of art. Meanwhile, Carl wiped his eyes and laughed his way into the kitchen.

Liam was quick to stand up and say, "It was my idea!"

Taking off his coat, Ian wasn't really sure what world he had stepped into. He watched Mickey frown at Luis and pick up the dress, tossing it pretty much over the boy's head.

"Go apologize," Mickey said to Luis, not angry, overlooking Liam's defense.

"Okay," Luis's sighed, unhappy now, standing up. His voice was muffled as he pulled the dress off of his head.

Liam started toward the stairs and Luis followed.

Ian blinked a few times, now alone with Mickey. He survived the painted up floor. It was pretty obvious what had gone down. Someone brought in pizza; Ian couldn't imagine it being Mickey. Mickey, who he wasn't really sure was actually even standing in front of him. Saying this wasn't delirium. Saying that Ian wasn't currently asleep on Lip's floor in his puddle of tears . . .in that case, Ian assumed that Liam and Luis had attacked Debbie's dress while the adults chowed down in the kitchen. He could hear who was probably Jimmy straightening up the table.

Ian's eyes met Mickey's. And the words just sort of fell out. "What are you doing here?" Ian asked, confused. His voice was scratchy from getting upset at Lip's place.

Mickey shrugged. "I got bored," he said.

Taking in a deep breath, Ian asked, "So you came here?"

Mickey picked his tooth and looked away from Ian. "The kid wanted to see you," he said, and Ian couldn't tell if Mickey was lying or half lying. The words sounded honest enough, but Mickey's body language spoke volumes.

Throwing his coat into the chair near the door, Ian smirked and bent down to pick up the box. He heard the kitchen door slam shut. Heard Jimmy calling for Fiona as he walked up the backstairs. Ian sat the box beside the sofa and plopped down. Practically in front of Mickey. He hadn't put much thought into the sitting spot until Mickey quickly moved back into the archway.

"What's in the box?" Mickey asked, nodding. "Your sister says you went to Lip's?"

Hearing Mickey say Lip's name caused Ian's chest to ache all over again. He cleared his throat, nodded, and reached into the box, pulling out Lip's copy of "Invisible Monsters." He flapped it a few times and held it still, looking at the worn out pages. "He used to read this a lot," Ian sighed. A nostalgic grin crept onto his face. "I never understood why," he chuckled. "It's weird."

"No offense," Mickey said, crossing his arms, "but he was weird guy."

Ian huffed, grin still in place and looked up. When he realized how intently Mickey had been watching him, Ian's face heated up. He cleared his throat and dropped the book back into the box Heart fluttering. Started anywhere but Mickey.

The problem with being in the same room as Mickey was that guilt wouldn't stop beating Ian in the chest.

xxx

Mickey's issue with being in this room, alone with Ian, was that he was torn. Torn between wanting to beat the shit out of Ian or to . . .to what? The past was the past, and Mickey supposed letting go of his grudge was the better of choices. Doing so felt nearly impossible.

He watched Ian sigh and look around the room. Probably Ian was just as uncomfortable. Opening his mouth a few times, Ian finally met Mickey's stare with a serious, knitted brow. "What are you really doing here?" he asked, searching Mickey's soul, or so it felt.

Shrugging, Mickey patted his pockets for a pack of smokes. He pulled out his last one and, holding it between his lips, searched himself for a lighter. He couldn't find one.

Ian cleared his throat and stood up from the sofa, lighter extended outward in his palm. When Mickey grabbed for it, Ian closed his hand.

"Take a walk with me," Ian said, and Mickey could tell by Ian's tone that this was not up for debate.

Mickey looked up at the stairs. He guessed Louis was fine. Safer here than he had been alone with Iggy. So going for his coat, in the floor by the television, Mickey shouldered it on and followed Ian out the front door.

They walked, he supposed by instinct, toward Mickey's burned home. To be honest, Mickey hadn't seen it yet. They stopped, and, as though just now realizing the mistake, Ian turned wide-eyed to Mickey and reached back, grabbing at Mickey's bicep.

"Shit," Ian said fast, "I wasn't thinking!"

Mickey looked down at Ian's hand on him, breath and smoke trapped in his lungs. He breathed out slowly and pulled back some. "It's fine," he said, coughing. And peered out at the rubble.

Pieces of burned up wood. Mostly snowed on ashes. Mickey stood there, frozen. Starting out at the area that was once his room. He wondered how much of it Terry had kept the same, if anything. His eyes moved to Mandy's old room. A sting hit his eye and Mickey shook himself, running his face furiously. He spat and turned away from the house, holding between his eyes, shut tight until this wave of sadness dissipated. He hated to let Ian Gallagher see him fucking cry. Not that he hadn't seen Ian cry plenty. That wasn't the point. So far as Ian had even witnessed, Mickey Milkovich didn't cry. He broke things and told whatever was hurting him to piss off.

He took in deep breathes and swallowed until he could open his eyes and be okay with speaking. When he was back to feeling balanced, he breathed, "Fuck. That fire was deliberate." Ian was quiet, so Mickey turned back around. Suddenly afraid that Ian had run off. He hadn't. Ian was sitting on the sidewalk, calmly smoking a cigarette and watching Mickey with curious eyes. Eye that also held the same sadness that had taken Mickey for a ride. And thought.

"Yeah," Ian finally said, stubbing out his cigarette by his hip. He looked down at the block smudge he had created. "But the police aren't looking into it," he sighed.

"Of course not," Mickey laughed mirthlessly. He threw his arms out. "And why would they? This fucking city," he growled, "is glad to see most of my family dead or moved."

Ian frowned. "Tony tried," he said. "But he says his Captain claims it was a meth lab explosion. Your dad had one going in the basement," he trailed.

Mickey shook his head. "Nah," he said, tight, "it ain't."

Standing up, Ian took a deep breath and looked down at Mickey, remorseful. "I know," he said eventually, their eyes like magnets.

By the time Mickey spoke, his voice was gritty. "Get me the fuck out of here, Gallagher," he said, not breaking eye contact, a ball forming in his throat.


End file.
